We all have our pet peeves. My list includes most children, stupid people and of course dating. One of my best friend Wendy’s pet peeves is when we go out to a bar, she leaves the table to use the restroom and when she comes back I have some stranger sitting at the table.
I’m a friendly gal. I like makin small talk and I’ve always got my eye out for a nice lookin man who might need to take a load off his feet. You’d think I would have learned my lesson after “Philippe” but that would not be the case.
Most men were just waiting for their buddy and/or their date to arrive and were happy to have the chair for the moment but were quick to move on, afraid that the fat girl might hit on them. But a few men stick out. There was angry bald Irish guy. He was OK but I never did figure out what he was so pissed about. There was also the guy that tried to stick me with his check. That was a fun one to explain to the waitress.
One night while Wendy was in the restroom I saw a lady standing around, clearly waiting for a table. I told her that my friend and I would be leaving shortly and to feel free to have a seat. She was thankful and sat down. Then her friend showed up, and then another friend, and another. It was an interesting crew and getting larger by the minute. Wendy and I decided to not rush off. After awhile a few good looking guys show up and join the table and I decide to feel them out.
Well there’s one in every crowd. He thought he was clever and I’m guessing him and his buddies had done this before because they went right along with him. Me, always one to start a conversation asked him what he did for a living. He told me he was a manatee hunter. What? What the hell is that? I mean I’ve heard of manatees living in Florida but there’s no need to hunt them, they are an endangered species, and not to mention; It’s illegal! Then he tells me he used to be a seal clubber but this job had better benefits. Gotcha, I see where your headed with this. You’re full of shit! He then asks me what I do for a living. I tell him I’m a bikini model. Take that douche bag. He laughs, tells me him and his buddies are actually garbage men from NYC. OK. Not as interesting but at least they have jobs.
The conversations go back and forth between everyone when one of the ladies that I invited to the table mentions how much they all enjoy working for the airline and how much fun the traveling is. Airline? “Oh yes, we all work for Jet Blue.” Since when is it cooler to be a garbage man than it is to work for a major airline? I guess when you don’t want a fat chick squeezed into a seat next to you on a flying tin can. I could see that if I stuck around all the bullshit was just going to continue so I decided it was time for Wendy and I to bail.
After all, why would I continue to sit around and listen to them when I just know there will be another willing victim that will need a chair next weekend.
